


9. Because You're in a Hotel

by GettingOverGreta



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Quiet Sex, Vaginal Fingering, hints of D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingOverGreta/pseuds/GettingOverGreta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the 50 Reasons to Have Sherlolly Sex collection. Sherlock visits Molly in protective custody post-TAB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	9. Because You're in a Hotel

Sherlock knew he was taking a risk in visiting the hotel. For all he knew, his actions might result in Molly being relocated again, although he had been exceptionally careful in planning his stop at the corporate extended stay hotel where Molly Hooper was being kept in temporary protective custody. Mycroft's shadowy people had opted not to take any chances with one of the few people who had actually had extensive contact with Moriarty and survived. Sherlock wasn't even sure why he thought he needed to see her. She was perfectly safe where she was, and yet, he wanted very much to lay eyes on her.

Sherlock heard the sound of a blow dryer when he entered the suite. Two guards were stationed in the sitting area, something that must have galled Molly despite the reasons for it. She liked to have her space...not that such minutiae ever troubled Sherlock when he invaded her flat.

"Out," Sherlock ordered, nodding towards the corridor, and took a breath to steel himself for seeing Molly for the first time in several months. Molly emerged from the en suite and smiled up at him, the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in a great while. He was struck by both a soft wave of nostalgia, and a sharp dash of surprise at how she looked now. He knew they would have altered her appearance, but he was still surprised to realize that they had stripped away so much of what was essentially Molly, and left behind this woman, a bland, corporate version of the same. Her clothes were pale and colorless, cut slimmer to her body than he was used to seeing, meant to match her environment if she left her room for other areas of the hotel. This in turn allowed her to fit in with the décor of her current lodging – a blank square of a hotel, where her former personality would have stood out as overly bright and colorful.

"It's fine here," she blurted. "Quiet. I'm sort of used to it, I suppose. Any news?"

"News? No, not really. We're still following some leads. Nothing that should concern you."

"That's – that's good. So I guess I just wait, then?"

"Yes, it seems that will be the plan for right now." And then he realized that he wasn't sure what to say next. He had no questions for her, no case where her pathology expertise might be helpful. Molly was often chatty but seemed to be having a similar difficulty now that the subjects of the lab and Sherlock's cases were removed from the picture.

Indeed, the next sound Sherlock heard was the conversation of the guards in the corridor, who were apparently unaware that the aggressively plain extended stay hotel was also rather poorly constructed.

"Can you believe this? Thought she was someone important and she's just his brother's bit of stuff."

"That ponce? Does he even go in for that sort of thing?"

Sherlock couldn't quite hear anything that came afterwards, in light of the odd, goods train like rush of blood to his head that accompanied anger for him. He barely registered Molly's face shifting from stunned to confused, to furious. _How dare they_ , Sherlock thought, his brother was going to hear – 

Sherlock didn't even realize he was moving towards the door until he felt Molly's grip on his arm. She swung around in front of him, one little hand keeping him from moving forward because he would have had to push her out of the way. He didn't understand why – she was almost trembling with anger herself, tears threatening at the sides of her eyes because she'd had her life ripped out of her hands and was getting slandered on top of it. But she stood her ground, always surprisingly solid when the world seemed to be sinking into chaos.

"She's not even that fit. What kind of kinky shit do you think she has to be into?"

Molly took a slow, deep breath that Sherlock found eerily unsettling. She wasn't exactly one to hold her temper.

"Fuck. This," Molly mouthed, and for a brief moment Sherlock was afraid she would throw away everything and defiantly stomp back into Bart's without another word. Instead, she strolled placidly towards the bed, bounced on it just enough to make it creak a little, and then did the absolute last thing Sherlock would have expected.

She moaned.

Sherlock froze, unable to process just what Molly Hooper was doing before she did it again. 

"Oh yes," she said breathily, "Mmmm." She then crawled up the bed towards the headboard, continuing to bounce playfully, punctuating each slight creak of the mattress with increasingly loud sighs. "God, yes, just like that. Please, please." She flashed a grin at him, and Sherlock just blinked, his brain's limbic system having apparently shorted out such that even the base functions weren't quite up to the task.

After a confused moment of wondering why Molly would be impersonating one of John's preferred videos, Sherlock realized – if they could hear the guards...the guards could hear them. Could hear Molly, who was now blatantly jumping on the bed like a child, causing the headboard to thump obnoxiously against the wall. 

"Yes, yes, oh, OH!" With one final, egregious rattle of the headboard, Molly collapsed onto the bed, panting from an unplanned plyometrics workout. She rolled off and walked over to the door, throwing it open to reveal the two red-faced gits in the hallway. 

"Goodness, you're right. I guess the walls _are_ a bit thin," she said, glancing over her shoulder to Sherlock, and closed the door again. She sauntered up to him again, the smile Sherlock knew to be a teasing one in place, and he looked her over. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, her carefully styled hair now in some disarray. He was sure, if he laid a thumb against her pulse, it would be racing. And her eyes...he watched her eyes seem to darken to swallow him up in the room, despite the considerable daylight that passed through the translucent curtains. 

Oh. She may have been playing at the act, but Molly Hooper was most definitely, genuinely aroused.

He had to admit, he was feeling a bit dry-mouthed himself at the moment, possibly because his jaw had been hanging open for a solid five minutes. There was something happening here, something where they could both laugh it off as a joke, as a bit of silliness that would probably result in Molly being relocated again but would be absolutely worth it, but Sherlock wasn't sure that he wanted that. He stepped closer to Molly, slowly crowding her until she was sliding back onto the bed again, and he was crawling after her. 

Sherlock studied her briefly, watched as her lips parted as she looked up at him, the way her hips subtly shifted so that he could slide closer to her. That cool, professional clothing was even more jarring now that it contrasted with her increased respiration, trembling hands, and very hungry expression. For the first time in a rather long time, he thought he would be very interested in a long session of...data collection.

 _Is that what the kids are calling it these days?_ John's voice sounded in his head. 

"Shut up," he muttered in irritation.

"Excuse me?" Molly said, rearing back as if he'd struck her.

"Sorry, no – not you, Molly." She just looked confused, which was throwing him off track, but oh, it did give him a lovely idea. He leaned in to breathe in the scent of her hair, and pressed his lips to the beauty mark at the side of her neck.

"I want you to be quiet now," Sherlock whispered into her ear, relishing her shudder as he did so. "No performing. This is only for us." He lifted his head to check her reaction, and Molly gave him a brief, succinct nod.

Right then. No sense in playing about when he had a simple goal in mind. He drew one finger along the inner seam of her trousers, listening to the hitch of her breath as he reached the apex of her thighs and guided her legs farther apart. He cupped his hand over her clothed mound, slowly stroking her and enjoying the rise of her hips to meet his hand. The heat of her skin radiated through the thin material, and Sherlock watched as the flush in her cheeks began to spread down her throat.

Sherlock deftly reached up and released the hook-and-eye and then the zip of her trousers, and dipped his hand to stroke over silky knickers – which were, to his amusement, printed with little blue birds.

"Oh, there you are," Sherlock murmured. "I thought they'd buried you completely." 

Molly smiled, shaking her head slightly. He dipped his hand lower, skimming over her delicate pants, surprised at how damp the fabric had grown so quickly. Molly's breath grew even shallower as he catalogued how quickly gooseflesh followed the track of his fingers and noted the white streaks of adolescent stretch marks across her abdomen. The sound of his own heart was thumping loudly in his ears, he realized, distracting him from the task quite literally at hand. He slipped his hand beneath the remaining barrier, his flesh finally meeting hers.

Molly gasped softly at the first brush of his finger in her folds, and Sherlock tsked. Really, he had made one very simple request, and he reminded Molly with a wag of his finger. Then he had an idea, one that he wasn't sure she would like. He swung himself around to lean over her before placing his hand over her mouth with the lightest pressure, arching an eyebrow to ask if that was all right. Molly's eyes seemed to bloom into even greater darkness as she nodded frantically, and Sherlock suddenly wanted all the equipment in the world to measure every heartbeat and galvanic skin response she could produce. 

Kinky shit indeed.

Molly's breath puffed out hot against his hand as he started to make tight strokes, almost struggling to keep a steady rhythm against her slick wetness. Her thigh trembled beneath him – when had he straddled her leg? – and then Molly tipped over the edge of her pleasure, not making a sound besides a shuddering breath.

"Good girl," he whispered as he lifted his hands from her body, noticing the little shiver in her form as he spoke. He shook out his hand a bit, then glanced at his fingers and curiously licked them – the taste was salty, perhaps a bit sour, but not unpleasant.

"That was...unexpected," Molly said, shifting and getting herself to rights. She curled onto her side, newly ginger hair falling across the pillow. 

"Mmm. Unexpected but not unpleasant, I hope." Sherlock slid down in the bed to lay beside her, she would hardly feel like an upright conversation at the moment. To his surprise, Molly reached across him, her arm a soft weight across his waist. To his even greater surprise, it felt natural to slide his arm beneath her and draw her closer until her head was against his shoulder. He breathed in the scent of her hair, noting that Mycroft's people had at least let her keep her shampoo.

"Look at me, acting like a princess." She peeked up at him. "Would you like me to – " Molly moved her hand to the button on his trousers.

"Not necessary." He took her hand, tangling their fingers together. "Although you might be surprised at what princesses get up to, Molly." She giggled at that, and Sherlock found he was helpless to stop himself from smiling back. He had come all this way to find her, after all.

Here, far from Bart's and Molly's cozy flat, Sherlock found himself keenly aware of his responsibility for her current state, a woman hidden away from the world solely because of her entanglement with him. And yet she would offer herself up to him, entrust him with something so intimate – indeed she seemed to _like_ the idea of this being just a little dangerous. The very idea set off an ache that seemed to spread from his stomach to his collarbones and that nearly threatened to engulf him because he could not lay a name to it and crush whatever sentiment was attached.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Are you trying to figure out when you can leave?"

He laughed softly. "Oddly, no." Molly's ungainly little snort reassured him that he had not laid waste to whatever their relationship was at the moment.

"They'll move me, won't they?" Molly whispered. She grabbed the lapel of his jacket in her fist, and he smiled at the thought that she would stubbornly keep him with her.

"Afraid so," Sherlock murmured. "At least when they do they'll reassign your guards. They'll be rather useless from the inability to look you in the eye anyway."

"Worth it," Molly replied. "Wear the coat next time," she added, eyes twinkling. Sherlock grinned, and kissed the crown her of her head. There would be another time, he decided, and he would find her wherever Mycroft decided to hide her away.


End file.
